Whispered Darkness by Jessica Sorensen Page 0,20

been with anyone.”

“You don’t feel as upset about this as I’d guess,” I state, observing him.

He lifts a shoulder. “That’s because I’m not. Not really. I mean, at the time, it kind of stung, but like I said, I didn’t love Natalie or anything.” His throat muscles work as he swallows hard. Whatever he’s thinking about in that moment causes hurt to sting through his veins.

“What is it?” I wonder.

“What’s what?” he asks without looking at me.

“You’re hurting right now,” I say. “What’re you thinking about?”

“Nothing.” His lie burns against my flesh.

“Please don’t lie to me,” I whisper. “Whatever it is—ugly or not—I need the truth. I always need the truth.” And I want—no, need—to know everything about you.

He traces the lines on his palm with his finger. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Then don’t lie to me. When I ask for the truth, please give it to me.”

He continues to shake his head with his lips smashed together.

“Please,” I beg.

He sighs audibly. “It’s not really important anymore. The hurt your feeling … it’s an old wound.”

I scoot closer to him. “Caused by what?”

He closes his eyes, and his chest puffs out as he exhales. “By you.” He opens his eyes and stares at his hand as he sketches the lines on his palm. “What Natalie did didn’t really hurt me, because I’d been through something similar, where a girl I liked left me for Foster. Only, this girl, I liked a lot more. And I think maybe, in a way, I may have even loved her, because she was the only light in the darkness that consumed my fucking pathetic life.”

I am literally the worst fucking person in the world.

This corpse of a girl who exists merely because this shadow of a boy saved her. Only, he’s not really a shadow. He’s just covered by one. But underneath the darkness is a beautiful, fractured glow of light.

I need to fix this, fix what I did.

“I’m sorry,” I start. “I don’t even know what to say to—”

“You don’t need to apologize,” he cuts me off. “It was a long time ago.”

I swallow hard. “No, it really wasn’t. I mean, sure, I broke off our friendship quite a few years ago, but every day I spent with Foster and ignored you was another break. And that’s a lot of damn breaks … But I’m going to try to fix it. I just need you to let me, okay? Can you do that? Can you try to let me fix what I’ve done?”

“Harlynn, you don’t owe me anything. I wish you’d stop thinking that.”

“No, I really do. Whether you can see it or not”—I reach forward and sweep strands of his hair out of his eyes—“you’re a good person.”

He sucks in a breath through his nose. “No, I’m not.”

“Yeah, you are,” I insist then place my palm on his chest where his heart is racing. “Because I can feel it. I can feel everything you’re feeling, and I know there’s nothing malicious inside here.” And I have to wonder if I had this curse—ability—before to feel what Kingsley is feeling, if maybe I’d been able to see through Foster’s bullshit.

“Well, whether you think I am or not, you still don’t owe me anything.” His voice comes out uneven.

“We’ll see about that.”

“Harlynn,” he starts to protest when the computer pings.

My attention darts to it, my hand drifting from his chest. “What was that?”

“I … I think you have a new email.” Blinking a few times, he picks up the computer and sets it on his lap.

I scoot closer to him, probably unnecessarily, but I still do it, anyway; that desire to be close to him magnifying after his declaration that he loved me once. Sure, we were young enough at the time that I’m certain it wasn’t him actually being in love with me, but he loved me like a friend. And I broke that love and him.

But I’m going to fix this; fix what I did. Somehow. I just need to figure out a way. Just like I need to figure out who killed the girls, something I’m reminded of when I see who the message is from.

“It’s from Death,” I say as I tap to open the new message.

Tomorrow, 2:30, at the bench in the park near the statue of the willow tree with a cat in it.

“What the hell?” I mumble. “Is this where they want to meet me?”

“Wait—Did you tell them where you live?” he asks, looking horrified.

I swiftly